Parenting for Psychopaths
by braxtonwrites
Summary: Molly Hooper found out she was pregnant shortly after the Fall, but gave the baby up to her biological father, and has avoided her old friends. But two years later, after her daughter's father mysteriously goes missing, Molly is now responsible for the little girl and has no idea what she's doing. And a surprise visit from an old friend only makes things more complicated.
1. Chapter 1

Molly Hooper was not in a very good place. Even though she knew that Sherlock was really alive – something that perhaps only four people in the world at that moment knew – it felt like he had died all over again. Because there was no guarantee that he would be coming back alive. He had brushed off her concerns, told her that he would obviously be back when the time was right. But she just wasn't so sure. His endeavor was dangerous, at best, and so was the British Government (a.k.a. Mycroft Holmes.) One wrong move on either side, and bam, no more Sherlock Holmes… forever, this time.  
Further clouding her mind was what she had come to call The Jim Thing. Jim Moriarty, criminal mastermind and psychopath extraordinaire, was very much alive. Molly didn't want to hurt Sherlock, didn't want to betray him. But she and Jim had a more profound bond, and she couldn't just tell him no when he had asked her to help him. If he didn't fake his death, then his real death would have been imminent. It was curious, sometimes, just how similar Sherlock and Jim were. Which, when she thought about it, explained her attraction to both of them. But the fact was, both of them were going to come back at some point. And when they did, she was going to have a lot of explaining to do. More than she wanted to do.  
She had fallen pregnant just before The Fall. She knew the father, of course, and had informed him. But Sherlock… She never got the nerve to admit it. She felt, for some reason, that he would further reject her, or criticize her. He had left when she was four months along, and just starting to really show. Jim... Well, she hadn't spoken to Jim since he had asked her to positively identify the fake body. Nine months after the two most important men in her life had disappeared, and she now sat in a hospital gown, holding a little ball of mess. She should have been happy – her mother and aunts had all told her that having a child was the best thing that could happen, that the bond between mother and child was stronger than anything else. But with everything else on her mind, she couldn't bring herself to be happy. She loved the little baby girl, she really did. But perhaps not as much as she should have.

"The court hereby grants custody of Jane Morine Ollivander to Molly Hooper." The judge said, before slamming down the gavel. Molly smiled at her lawyer and other family members in the courtroom, genuinely happy. She had missed nearly two years of her daughter's life, and she didn't plan on ever missing any more.  
A week ago, Jane's father had gone missing. No note, no forced entry, no car, no James. It was a mystery that the London police did not seem very keen on solving. But then, with a string of homeless people dead under very strange circumstances, it wasn't that surprising that a missing man was not their first priority. And so the case of the missing James Ollivander was put on the very back burner, likely never to be touched again. Which was bittersweet. While Molly was excited to have her daughter, by all accounts James had been a great father, and knowing that Jane might live the rest of her life without him was quite sad. But there was no use dwelling on it.  
She had spent the last two weeks preparing the nursery in her new apartment. She didn't know exactly how children worked, what Jane would like, or if she would like her room. But Molly had Googled and researched her butt off, and she was confident that she could take whatever life dished out for she and her offspring. When the judge dismissed them from the courtroom, a rather snippy looking social worker came out holding a very confused looking Jane.  
"I expect you know how to take care of a child and don't need any further explanation, Ms. Hooper?" The woman asked, her nose pinched as though there was a bad smell in the air. Molly took a short sniff, and concluded that the woman must have just had a sour personality.  
"Um, yes, madam." She said, eager to be away from the woman who seemed to be constantly judging her, calculating her. Sherlock made her uncomfortable enough when he had done it, and he wasn't as obvious about it as this woman.  
"Well, here you go then. Happy Christmas." The woman said, pouring a protesting Jane into Molly's arms. The woman's heels clicked on the tile of the grand hall as she walked away. Immediately, Molly's mom and aunts were all over her, cooing over the new baby in their family. Jane began to cry, and Molly suspected it was from the immediate surprise attack of attention on her. Molly rocked her gently. That was what the books had said to do when babies cry.  
"Um, Mum, maybe you should go to lunch. I'll go home and get Janie settled in and you thhree can visit her later." She said, trying to put enough urgency in her voice to make her mother understand. It appeared to work, though after a bout of her mother's usual fussing that she never wanted her around, and soon Molly was a free mother.  
She had quite the time putting the squirming little girl into the car seat, and had another time driving with Janie's squealing over a bird from the back seat. But after forty-five minutes, the two were at Molly's new apartment, all clean and ready for a little girl to move in. Molly hoped that Jane liked it at least enough as she had liked her old home. Sure, she might not be a great parent yet, but she would be. She would make sure of it.  
She wrestled the tiny girl out of the stubborn car seat, and took her inside. She watched Jane's face as she looked around, and couldn't tell if her daughter was fascinated or confused or just making oblivious baby faces. Okay so she wasn't good at reading facial expressions of one-year-olds. But she was good at reading her own belly, and her belly was hungry. "Janie want lunch?" Molly cooed to the girl, as she sat her down in the playpen in front of the tv. She turned on some happy children's show, and that seemed to make Jane content, as she started smiling and clapping to the cheerful music on TV.  
Molly went into the kitchen, and busied herself with cutting up chicken and boiling rice. She had bought a years supply of small meals and snacks for babies, so she didn't expect she would have to learn anything about baby nutrition any time soon. As she was pulling the melted cheese out of the microwave, there was a knock on the door. "Just one second!" She yelled, putting the hot bowl down and wiping her hands off on a towel. She bounded to the front door, her ponytail bouncing behind her. She opened the door, smiling. But the smile melted from her face as she saw who was at the door.  
"Did you miss me?" He asked with a grin.


	2. Chapter 2

Molly put the smile back on her face, as butterflies went mad in her belly. "Jim. Um, hi, come in." She said, opening the door wider. The last thing she needed was for the entirety of London to see England's most notorious mass murderer standing on her doorstep. He walked in, straightening his tie and wearing that devilish smile like he always did.  
He looked around the flat, which was relatively nice. The blue floral wallpaper in the living room gave way to bright yellow paint in the kitchen, in which sat a gas stove and a fridge that may have very well been from the '80s. The stairs had some kind of stained brown carpet on them that Molly had intentions to replace in the near future. His eyes stopped on Jane, bouncing along as she watched the characters on the telly.  
"Oh, are you babysitting for someone?" He asked, as he sat on the cream-colored settee. "She's a cutie." He added.  
"Um, no, actually. She- she's mine. Now, anyways." She stammered, still confused at this sudden turn of events. Her life was changing quickly enough as it was without this new surprise. Not that she would have minded if he had come back if she didn't have Jane; on the contrary, she might have celebrated. But she was responsible for another life now, and Moriarty wasn't the type to appreciate that kind of limitation.  
"Oh." Jim seemed taken aback. It was a normal reaction, when you found out that your former lover and partner in crime (or at least partner in covering up crime) suddenly had a two year old. No doubt that Jim had kept tabs on her while he was gone; that was just how he did things. She was sure that he had watched John, Lestrade, and maybe even Mrs. Hudson, as well. But apparently he had missed the whole custody thing. Easy to do when James' disappearance was swept under the rug so quickly. "Well. Isn't that lovely." He said, after a pause. Molly couldn't read him, was he being genuine or playing the game?  
"Yes, yes it is." Molly agreed, as she finished cutting the chicken and added it to the boiling water.  
"So uh, you're married then." Molly could tell his voice had deflated. "Who's the lucky guy?" He asked, looking around the flat once more.  
"No, not married." She quickly replied. "Haven't even been on a date in nearly a year." She commented, mostly to herself. "Jane was just a, uh. A happy accident." Well, it was mostly true. Though the post-partum depression had definitely taken its tole, she knew that Jane wasn't just a mistake. Everything happened for a reason. She just hadn't figured out the reason yet. Toby, Molly's cat, came inside the pet door and gave her a dubious look, before proceeding to hiss loudly at Jim. Molly threw him a few bits of kitty kibble. "Oh, be quiet, Toby." She scolded him.  
Jane suddenly started to cry, but before Molly could put down her spatula and calm the screaming baby, Jim was in the playpen with her, bouncing her gently on his lap and shhh-ing her. Molly's eyebrows raised. For one, she had never seen Moriarty sit on anything but immaculate furniture in his suit. Secondly, who knew he had any knowledge of babies? He seemed to notice her look, and smiled. "I, uh, I basically raised my sister. My mom had her when I was nine, and then never came back..." He said, the smile fading. Molly's heart broke for him. No wonder he had problems. His mother was probably some common crack whore, out running the streets, or worse, dead. Molly had seen too many of the poor women come through her morgue. She allowed herself to smile at the scene in front of her, though Jane never did completely stop crying.  
"I think Janie needs a new diaper." She suggested, as she walked over and took her off of Jim's lap. She carried the small girl up to the nursery, and after five minutes of fiddling with baby wipes and awful Velcro fasteners, she had successfully undiapered, cleaned, recleaned (because she had not learned before now just how bad baby poop smelled,) and rediapered her daughter. Proud of herself and how motherly she was being, Molly took Jane back downstairs and put her in the high chair. She spread out tiny Goldfish and teddy-bear shaped graham crackers on the tray, and left Janie to her lunch.  
"So, um, what are you doing back?" Molly asked Jim, who had begun feeding the baby tiny bites, using the old "here comes the plane" trick. She really never would have guessed that the self-proclaimed terrorist was so good with one-year-olds. She pulled her lunch off of the stove and served it onto two plates.  
"Well I couldn't stay gone forever. Haven't made my grand entrance yet, though. Don't want to be overshadowed when Sherlock Holmes-" his voice took on a mocking tone as he said the other man's name,"- comes back." He explained. Molly could understand that, but it still didn't answer her question.  
"Jim, you're wanted by Scotland Yard, the FBI, the Kremlin, Interpol, and a thousand other agencies." She said. She didn't know the names of all of the law enforcement that had a bounty on his head, but she knew that there were at least ten. Jim Moriarty was worth a pretty penny, dead or alive. He had to know that.  
"Well I would hope so - otherwise Lestrade really would be slipping." Jim said, giggling a little bit. He coughed and put on a serious face. "But they're never going to make the charges stick anyways." he said, a hint of humor still in his voice. Molly gave him what she wanted to be a stern look, but with that smile she couldn't stay mad at him. Though his sudden coming back was a shock, she found she didn't mind it as much as she had thought she would. "But uh, I sort of need a place to stay. You know, until I make my big entrance." He added, the way that he said it scared Molly a little bit. He had made himself quite the exit, and she didn't want to think about what he had planned for his reentrance.  
"I suppose you can stay here, if you want to that is." She added the last part quickly, not wanting to seem too eager. She had read once in a magazine that men didn't like women that were overly eager to please, though in her experience it had been much the opposite. "I don't have a guest bedroom, but I can make you a cot here in the sitting room. You know, just temporarily." She said.  
"Oh, can I? That would be great." Jim said, smiling. Molly returned his smile, but one small part of her brain nagged at her, wondering what she had just gotten herself into.


	3. Chapter 3

Molly made Jim stay upstairs in the nursery while her mother and aunts visited. She endured nearly two hours of their constant cooing and gushing. She couldn't have imagined what it would have been like had she had Jane this entire time. An entire year of cheek pinching and comments about finding a man. Of course, that happened every time they visited anyways, but usually they only visited on Easter and Christmas, and sometimes the odd birthday or anniversary. She was going to need more wine of they were going to do this constantly. Not that she was a drunkard, she just liked a drink every now and then.

With many hugs and pinches and promises to call and make plans to have tea, none of which Molly had any intentions of following through on, she finally ushered the still-babbling women out the door and onto the drizzly streets of London. She felt bad, in a way; they were all the family that she had, and they only meant well. But there was a reason that she had chosen a career that dealt with as few living people as possible. Molly just wasn't good with people. She was good with cats and the occasional stray hedgehog. Not people. Maybe that was why she got on with Sherlock and Jim so well; they weren't really people.

Jim, who Molly assumed had heard her family leave, came down the stairs, tossing one of Jane's toys between his hands. "I never did understand everyone's obsession with family." He commented, his face taking on a distant look. "They never return favors, or ask how your criminal empire is going. No, it's all 'Look at me in law school' and 'why did you murder my fiance." Ugh. Pointless, ungrateful maggots, family are." He smiled at Molly, who was giving him a quizzical, slightly horrified look.

She quickly nodded and returned his smile, picking up her sleepy daughter. It was nearly seven, so Molly guessed that it was close to the small girl's bed time. Wait, did babies have bedtimes? Or did bedtimes start later in life, at like three or five? She would have to Google that later. In the mean time, she was going to make seven o'clock Janie's bedtime.

She carried the toddler up the stairs and put her on her back in the crib, and pulled the tiny blanket up to Jane's chin. After some whining and a bedtime story about a tiger and a panda bear, Molly's daughter finally fell asleep. Molly sighed, smiling at the peaceful look on the child's face. She had done better on her first day of being a parent than she had thought she would. Only seventeen more years to go. And then the rest of her life.

She stood up from the rocking chair, and saw Moriarty standing in the doorway, a smile on his face as he looked at her daughter. Since she had gone upstairs, he had changed into a pair of green plaid pajama bottoms and a plain white tanktop. "Oh, erm, hi." She said to him, wringing her hands and not wanting to be rude by pushing past him.

"Hi." He said, as cheerfully as ever, but keeping his voice down. He walked backwards a few steps, and gestured for Molly to take the lead down the stairs. She did, walking slowly and measuring her steps, knowing that there were creaky floorboards and not wanting to wake Jane.

"So, erm, what have you been up to since I died?" He asked, still grinning There always seemed to be something behind his smile, in Molly's experience; a false identity, a planned murder. But his smile now seemed more genuine than she had ever seen it. But then, she was the only person in England, possibly the world, that knew he was alive. That meant that he trusted her much more than literally almost anyone else on the entire planet. So he probably didn't have anything to hide this time, if not from being off radar for two years, then out of sheer transparency.

She shrugged. "Not much. Taking care of Toby and cutting up dead bodies, mostly. None of yours, I hope." She gave him a measured look, silently asking the question that she refused to ask out loud.

He laughed, as he sat in a chair and leaned forward, his elbows on his knees and his hands clasped. "No, no fun for me as of late." He replied. "Just managing the business. It's boring, but it keeps me out of the spotlight. Which is a good thing, for once." Molly wondered absentmindedly what, exactly, "the business" was. Drugs, perhaps? Or secrets? She didn't want to ask.

"Oh. Well that's good." She got a bottle of wine out of the refrigerator and poured herself a glass. "Would you like any?" She asked Jim from the kitchen. He nodded, and she poured a second glass for him. She made herself comfortable on the sofa and they both sipped the alcohol.

"Why didn't you ever tell me?" Jim asked suddenly, looking at Molly as though she had just told him his dog had died. "She's not mine, is she?" He asked, before Molly could answer his first inquiry.

"What? No! No, Jim, she is not yours." Molly said, suddenly feeling rather defensive. "And I didn't tell you because... well, because it was none of your business. You were busy, off being dead and all."She said, taking another large sip of her wine. She had known this was coming, but had not prepared herself for it. Of course, Jane couldn't be his. Sure, the timing was right, but it just wasn't possible. She was James' child. She had James' eyes, and his cheekbones. Of course, Molly knew that genetics was mostly chance, but she would stick by her story. Jane was she and James' child, and Jim had no part in her making.

"If you're sure." Moriarty muttered, his voice low. Molly supposed that she shouldn't have raised her voice, but what right did he have to question her? She sighed, and reached out to touch his hand.

"I'm glad you're back." She told him, then leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek.


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Note:**_ Sorry for the slow updates; my computer has issues and I've had to borrow a friend's. Thus, I lost the original chapter 4 and had to rewrite it, and so I lost a lot of muse for a while. This chapter is mostly fluff, and some Moriarty backstory that will be important later. Sorry for any crappiness; I promise chapter 5 will be better and will be up soon 3_

Molly awoke at 6:25 the next morning, Jim's arm draped lazily over her shoulders. He snored softly, his black hair in a mess and his shirt askew. She smiled sleepily, and moved slowly so as not to wake him. After checking on a still-sleeping Jane, she padded downstairs and made herself a pot of coffee. Today was going to be a full day, and she was not looking forward to it. Thankfully, with Jim there, she would not have to have her mother watch Jane. She worried a little about leaving him alone with her, but concluded that he actually had more parenting experience than she did and that Janie was probably better off with him, anyways. And so, she pulled on a pair of khaki trousers, a blue button-up blouse, and sensible white shoes and headed out for the day by 8 a.m.

Nine hours later, smelling like death but feeling rather ironically full of life, she returned to the flat, taking off her shoes at the door and dropping her handbag on the couch. Jim came down the stairs, dressed in his usual impeccable suit and tie, his hair gelled and his shoes polished to perfection. Molly immediately noticed that he was missing one tiny detail though: Jane. She panicked. He had murdered people, children even, multiple times, how could she leave him alone with her one-year-old daughter? What had he done, where was sh-

"Relax, Molly. She's taking a nap." He said, that lazy smile on his face again. Molly sighed loudly, her entire body relaxing as it processed the information that she hadn't gotten her daughter killed within 24 hours of gaining custody. That definitely wouldn't have looked good to social services.

"Right. Yeah, napping, of course," She stuttered, feeling a teensy bit light headed. Jim walked over to her, and put his hands on her shoulders.

"Go upstairs. Take a shower; calm down. Dinner will be ready when you come back." He said, and though she smiled, Molly also vaguely wondered how on earth he could be this close to her without dying of the stench. She had gotten used to it, of course, but others usually ran. Nevertheless, she agreed, nodding and walking past him.

The hot shower water felt good on her back, washing away the events of the day. There had been a man butchered under a bridge - that body had been fun to examine. The cause of death, however, had not been the stab wounds, but arsenic in his system. He was already dead when he had been stabbed, making Molly wonder what the person's motive was. Probably one of those new drugs. She took a deep breath. _Don't think about all of that, Molly. You're home now._ She told herself, trying to relax. Just as she started shampooing her hair, she heard a cry from the other room.

Without a second thought, she jumped out of the shower without turning off the water, pulled a towel over her body, and ran into the nursery. Her hair still full of suds, she picked up a crying Jane and rocked her. She ran through the steps in her head that her mother and had taught her. Her diaper did not feel wet, and she did not smell. She was not running a fever, and she certainly didn't need to be burped, as she had not been fed in a few hours. She was hungry!

Molly felt proud of herself for figuring out the small mystery, but as she turned to go downstairs, Moriarty was already there, holding a warm bottle. He took a look at his soapy companion, and tried his best to not laugh. "You go wash that out, I've got her." He said, and Molly let him take a squirming Jane. She took the bottle, holding it for herself for the most part, and quieted almost immediately.

Ten minutes and one surgeon-style scrubbing down later, Molly brushed her long blonde hair into a ponytail, pulled on a pair blue jeans and her favorite pink shirt, and hopped downstairs, eager to see her daughter. Jane was sitting in her high chair, bouncing and throwing graham cracker bears at Jim, who was busy cooking what looked to be pasta and a white sauce in one pan, and broccoli with cheese in another. He didn't seem to have heard her come down, as he seemed to be happily playing target for Jane's snack.

Molly laughed, walking over to her daughter and leaning down so that they were face-to-face. "Now, Jane, you're not supposed to play with your food." She said, trying to make her voice somewhat stern, even though her heart was melting at the absolutely adorable look of pure joy on Jane's face.

Jane responded by throwing a teddy graham at her nose. "Play!" she squealed, making Molly laugh. She picked up her daughter and swung her in the air, before resting the girl on her hip and turning to her flatmate. Moriarty, who had heard their little conversation, began picking the snacks up off of the floor.

"Feisty one, she is. Took me almost five minutes just to get her into the booster." He said, though he didn't sound the least bit annoyed. If anything, he almost sounded proud of her. After all, he was the man that never let anything keep him down. Not even death, it seemed.

"So, what's for dinner?" She asked, setting Janie back down in her high chair and letting her resume her snack.

Moriarty, looking very pleased with himself, turned off each burner one by one. "Shrimp Farfalle Alfredo, cheesy broccoli, and lightly toasted garlic bread." He opened the oven and the smell of the bread, which Molly guessed was homemade, wafted into the kitchen and living room. Molly sniffed and smiled.

The two sat down to their dinner at the small table, and when Jim asked if the food was good Molly nodded and smiled. Once she had finished her bite and swallowed, she wiped her mouth with her napkin. "So, how does Britain's most notorious psychopath become a master chef?"  
she asked. There was much of his life that she did not know - literally the first thirty or so years. Come to think of it, she wasn't even exactly sure of how old he was.

His face became somewhat distant, as he finished his bite. "Well, after my brothers and sister got adopted off, I was left alone at the orphanage. And we didn't get home cooked meals there very often. When we got more than toast and jam, it was a good day." Molly felt very sorry for him, but his face lightened. "So, I started lifting from shops nearby. Some apples here, a loaf of meat there. No one really noticed, and no one suspected any of the orphans would have done it." That mischevious smile returned to his face. "But, I had no idea how to cook. So I improvised. Trial and error, much like most of my life. Eventually, you find out what works. And then, you know, you grow up, become a famous businessman, get loads of money, and hire a personal chef to teach you." He said, smiling wider. Molly smiled, despite still feeling bad for him. But she still had more questions.

"So, what about your pa-" Suddenly, Janie started throwing a tantrum again, kicking and crying. "Oh, alright, alright." Molly sighed, as she got up. She picked up her daughter and rocked her on her hip, but the girl didn't stop crying. Molly tried a pacifier, and a rattle. None of it worked. After a half hour, Jim interjected. "She needs to be burped." He said.

He took the girl and, after putting a towel over his shoulder, patted her back until the girl let out a small burp. He set her down in her playpen, and smiled at Molly. "I know, what would you do without me." He said cheekily.

What troubled Molly was that very was terrible at this mothering thing, and without Jim, she wouldn't have a clue what to do. But she still didn't have a clue what to do with Jim. He was a fugitive, hiding from the law and from Sherlock, who still had yet to make an appearance. She couldn't keep him under the rug forever.


	5. Chapter 5

Janie had once again become tired around seven p.m., and since Molly was a very big fan of schedules, she was glad that the child apparently came with a built-in sleep timer. After rocking her to sleep, Molly set her gently down in the crib and tiptoed downstairs to where Jim was watching the telly on mute. She got a bottle of wine from the fridge and poured two large glasses, handing one to Jim as she sat on the white sofa.

"I don't understand reality television." It seemed there were a lot of things the man did not understand, Molly thought cynically. Humans, friendships, cats, why murder is illegal. "I understand the fun of watching other people squirm, sure, but not when it's so scripted. And that woman's makeup..." He gave Molly a horrified face, and Molly smiled. The woman's makeup was indeed scary; those eyebrows just were not natural.

She let out a small sigh as he flipped through channels, stopping every now and then to watch a part of one. Molly's mind, however, was in other places. St. Bart's Hospital, where Moriarty and Sherlock had supposedly met their untimely demises. Her old flat, where she had gotten the call that three more bodies had come in, all victims in Moriarty's great game. The movie theater, where they had their first date, when she had thought him to be an unassuming man from the tech department. Upstairs, where her daughter lie sleeping, unaware and uninterested in the exploits of the most wanted mass terrorist of all time.

It wandered to Sherlock's apartment, where she had spent some good times with John, Lestrade, and Mrs. Hudson. To St. Bart's again, where they had all met and become friends. To the chapel where they had all cried over Sherlock's death. They had separated after that, only meeting sparingly and by chance. She had heard that John had a new girlfriend, and that Mrs. Hudson still hadn't rented out 221B. None of them knew what Molly was up to, however. Cavorting with criminals, letting a murderer sleep in her bed, sharing her life with a sociopath. She wondered what they would think, if they were to find out.

"Sherlock will be back, you know. He can't resist showing off, that one. Although I suppose you know that feeling, too." Molly said suddenly, her mind overwhelmed and conflicted.

Jim's face took on a look that Molly had not yet seen; it was at once amused and enraged. "Oh yes, I know. He'll go to his Jaaaaawn and they'll cryyyyy and then he'll go to that awful woman and they'll cryyyyy." He waved his hand and shook his head. "And then he'll prove that he is a genius and the whole world will be right again in Sherlock-land." He said, his voice high-pitched and mocking. She could almost see him roll his eyes, though she could not see it.

"Well... Yes. I suppose. But what will you do? You'll be the first person he goes after, you know that. He knows you're alive, as well." She reminded him. He gave a rather cinematic shrug and rolled his head on his shoulders.

"I have my plans." He said cryptically. Molly bit her tongue. She didn't often get mad, but he didn't seem to realize that she and Jane were now involved in this as well. She couldn't go to jail! Or worse, have John and Sherlock find out that she was harboring their arch enemy.

"Jim, no. Just. I can't settle for your supposed plans. I have myself, my home, my _daughter_ to think about. I know that you don't understand family bu-" Her voice was rising with every word, as was her heart rate. Jim leaned over and put his hand over her lips. She noted that he was wearing James' old cologne - she didn't know why she had kept it after they had split up, but she was grateful for the comforting smell now.

"Shhh, sweet. I know. Don't you worry about yourself of little Janie. I won't let anything happen to either of you." He said softly. Molly was not completely comforted. His bombing of a small child still nagged in the back of her mind. "Sherlock... Well, he's my problem."

"But he's my friend." Molly said sternly. Moriarty often forgot that little fact.

"Yes, well." He said, leaning back up. They didn't speak again for the rest of the night, choosing instead to watch Doctor Who in a pregnant silence. But when she went to bed, he followed, and held her until she fell into a very troubled sleep.


	6. Chapter 6

The next few weeks went by rather quietly. Though Molly had not forgotten the past, and though she definitely did not stop worrying about the future, she found that she liked the new routine. Wake up to Jim next to her, feed Jane, go to work, come home, shower, have dinner, feed Janie again, then put her to bed and have a glass of wine with Jim. Her aunts had not yet stopped in again, and for that she was grateful.

Moriarty was an incredible flatmate. He cleaned every day, fixed her lunch and cooked dinner, and kept Janie happy and well-fed. If he hadn't terrorized and killed nearly fifty people and indirectly murdered and stolen from so many more, he would be the perfect husband. She had tossed that sentence over in her mind countless times. She should be repulsed by him, horrified by him, turning him into the Scotland Yard and collecting her bounty.

But when she looked at him asleep, his round face smushed into the pillow, and she thought about where he had come from, the pain he had in his life, she couldn't bring herself to be mad at him. When she saw him with her daughter playing patty-cake, her heart melted and she couldn't find a reason to even be annoyed with him. It wasn't that she didn't recognize his crimes - she did. It was that when she met the man behind them, this soft, lovable little plush puppy who cooked gourmet meals and could burp a baby better than any mother, it seemed as though nothing could ever be wrong in the world. And besides, he wasn't currently killing anyone. The past was in the past, and she needed to let it go.

Which was all very nice and fine until one day when, after examining the body of a man who had evidently been strangled to death by his wife in the delivery room after he told her to "just breathe," Molly found one Sherlock Holmes, very much alive, hiding behind her locker door at St. Bart's.

Her heart lept into her throat, and she felt as though she could not breathe. Whether this was from the excitement of seeing Sherlock alive again or the terror of Jim Moriarty still at home on her couch, she could not tell. She didn't have to force the smile that came to her lips, as he pulled her in for a hug. What she did have to force was the conversation after he offered to walk her home. Molly could not tell him no, of course. That would be too rational.

"So, Molly. What have you been doing in my absence?" He asked her, tightening his scarf against the bite of the December cold as they stepped onto the sidewalk in front of the hospital.

Molly froze nearly as cold as the sidewalk. "I, er. I've mostly just been working, really." She stumbled on her words, and scolded herself. She was going to have to do better than that.

Sherlock, seemingly not noticing, smiled that crooked, devilish smile. "Ah. I bet business has calmed a bit, though. What with Moriarty being gone, and all." He had a triumphant look in his eyes, and Molly cringed, but quickly hid it with another smile.

"Er, somewhat. I mean we still have all of our usual murders and things. Natural deaths, too. Men who eat a few too many greasy hamburgers, mostly." She rambled.

Sherlock kept smiling as they walked, and she marveled at how he managed to only look ahead and never up or down. If a piano ever fell from a window of a high flat, Sherlock would be a pancake. Because she only lived three blocks away from St. Bart's, it did not take them very long to reach her townhouse. When they arrived, Sherlock made to go up the stairs, but Molly grabbed his jacket. "Oh, no, not right now. My house is a bit, well, it's a terrible mess right now." She said, her face turning red with each layer of the lie.

He gave her a strange look, but stepped down. "Well, alright then. Tell me, Molly. You haven't heard from Moriarty, have you?" He asked, a hint of suspicion in his voice.

Molly put on her most amused face, and laughed. "Sherlock, I don't think that I would be very high on his list of guests to the welcome back party. I mean, he knows I helped you and everything." She replied. He nodded, said his goodbyes, and hailed a cab, presumably back to 221B.

Molly let out a very, very deep breath, ran inside her house, and grabbed her luggage. Jim, obviously startled, followed her up. "What on earth are you doing, Molly?" He asked, looking at her shoving folded clothes into a pink suitcase.

"Moving to a different continent. Sherlock is back." She said. She expected a sort of finality with that sentence; for Jim to finally come to his senses and leave. She expected it would be more dramatic.

Instead, Moriarty simply laughed. "Well of course he is, he's been making dramatic entrances all week. Surely you've heard the whisperings. By God, Anderson hasn't shut up about it, from what I've heard. Started his own club of conspiracy theorists." He said with a chuckle. If looks could kill, Molly's surely would have put an end to Jim Moriarty.

"You knew. You knew all along and never told me? Jim, do you understand that I have a family to think about now? Do you understand what could happen to me if Lestrade ever finds out that you've been living with me? I could go to jail, Jim! I can't go to prison! They don't even use hand sanitizer in prison!" She yelled, her voice getting louder with each revelation. She continued stuffing clothes into her bag, but Moriarty began taking them out and refolding them one-by-one. "What are you doing?" She asked, half out of breath from hyperventilating.

"You're not going anywhere." He said simply. "How on earth do you fold a dress?" He asked.

"Jim, I can't stay here, Jane can't stay here. We're in danger." Molly said, ignoring his question.

Having given up and put the dress on a hanger, Jim grabbed a purple blouse and folded it, as calmly as ever. Molly actually found his calmness unnerving and not at all reassuring. "And if you leave, where will you go? You have no family outside of the country. Molly, you really should think these things through." He replied.

Her nostrils flared. "Oh, and you've got the whole world figured out have you?"

"Well, yes." He shrugged, and turned to face her. "I have more resources than you could ever imagine, Mol. More people in my command than the entire royal forces. Not to brag, but I am also the best strategist this world has ever seen. Don't you think I would have made plans to protect you, and our daughter?" He said, smiling at her.

Just as Molly was going to argue that Jane was not his daughter, the little girl in question started wailing from her playpen downstairs. "This is conversation is not over." She said sternly, before leaving to tend to her daughter as Moriarty continued to refold her clothes.


	7. Chapter 7

There was a welcoming back party for Sherlock later that week, where John and Mary announced their engagement and Molly formally introduced Jane. It was a strange experience, but Molly was glad to be back with her friends. She wished that Jim could have been by her side, as she felt completely alone and rather vulnerable, but she knew that was irrational and impossible.

Jim, for his part, had managed to go the entire week without descending from the sky in a cloud of black smoke and announcing his return. Molly could tell that he was ever so slightly jealous of Sherlock, but he was biding his time, waiting for the perfect time. Which lead Molly to wonder when, exactly, he thought the perfect time was, and hoped desperately that it wasn't going to be at John and Mary's wedding. Sherlock seemed to be worrying about the event more than even the special couple. According to John, he had been Youtubing how to make serviettes. Molly wasn't even entirely sure what a serviette was. She was a little bit glad that she would likely never get married.

Moriarty had been spending an awful lot of time chatting and texting on his phone, much more than before Sherlock's return, and had also been disappearing for hours a day, which made Molly very anxious, especially because he was taking Jane with him if Molly wasn't home from work. She knew that he had a boss, but no one knew who or where he was. On the rare occasion that he did see someone in person, according to Jim, he was merely a deep voice behind a black curtain, or on the other side of a perforated divider in a confession booth. Jim did not seem to like him very much; Molly suspected it was because he liked to be in control of everything and having this man around could hinder him. He was such a control freak. She thought it was cute.

It was becoming harder and harder to keep her flatmate a secret however, as the old gang slowly came back together. Lestrade had stopped by three times already to have a cup of tea and play with Jane, and Mrs. Hudson had been over even more. If Moriarty was home he would just stay upstairs and be very quiet until they left. If he was gone, Molly had to spend the entire visit glancing anxiously at the door praying that he would not return. He hadn't yet, but she just knew that one day he would come waltzing in and she would be thrown under the tower of London.

After Mrs. Hudson's most recent visit, during which she had mentioned no less than ten times that Molly and Jane could use a man around the house and that Molly was not getting any younger, Molly put her daughter to bed early and poured herself an extra large glass of wine. She had read somewhere that wine helped to prevent heart attacks. And with a two-year-old, Molly certainly didn't want to die of a heart attack any time soon.

Three large glasses later, just as the world started to get fuzzy, there was a telltale jingling of keys in the lock, and Jim strolled through the door, whistling a tune. He whipped off his black sunglasses, and tossed them and his housekeys into the bowl on the table next to the couch. "It is 8:30 at night, in London, Jim." Molly said, her eyes narrowing.

Jim looked slightly alarmed, but the smile remained on his face. "Yes, yes it is. And?" He chirped.

"Why the hell are you wearing sunglasses when it is dark and raining?" Molly questioned, tilting her head. She could see the practicality of clear glasses, to keep the rain out of one's eyes. But dark sunglasses just seemed like overkill, even to her inebriated mind.

Jim chuckled. "All the better to confuse you with, my dear." He responded cryptically, as he sat down on the end of the couch. Molly, who did have her feet propped up on the cushion that the criminal mastermind/personal chef was now occupying, plopped them back down into his lap. He began to massage her heels. "Long day?" he asked, his eyebrows furrowing.

She made a huffing sound, and took an excessive sip of wine. "Everyone keeps telling me that I should find a man and settle down. That Janie needs a father figure, that we need a man around the house, that I should be a stay-at-home mum instead of working all the time. Well, you know what, she had a father figure, and look what happened there." She gestured her glass vaguely, spilling a drop of the alcohol.

"And you know what, I can work _and_ take care of my daughter. I am not going to become some domestic concubine... _Housewife_ just here for the pleasure of some man. Maybe some women don't want to settle down. Maybe some women don't need a man. Has anyone ever thought that? Especially that awful Mary. Who would wed John? Who? I mean it's pretty clear that he and Sherlock are living domestic bliss. Well, they were, before Sherlock decided to not die, anyways. But still, that would be the most boring job, being his receptionist-cum-wife. Can you imagine spending all day with the same person?" Molly rambled on, taking gulps of wine in the middle of sentences. After a couple of minutes, Jim gently pried the glass from her hand, and Molly rested her head on the back of the sofa. "But enough about my day. How was yours?" She asked, her eyes drooping and her voice soft.

Jim smiled. "Oh, you know. Same old, same old." He said vaguely. Molly could tell there was something dark in that answer, but she was far too tired and her mind was far too gone to inquire about it. Besides, she probably didn't want to know. Jim's arranged killings today weren't her business for at least two days, up to five if he was nifty about hiding the body.

Another half hour later and Molly was out cold. Jim smiled, enjoying the peaceful look on her face. Free from worry or stress and completely at ease, the woman was strikingly beautiful. He stood, sliding her feet from his lap, picked her up, and carried her up the stairs to the bedroom. He laid next to her and slid the covers up to her neck, and smiled as he closed his eyes. "I love you." He breathed, slipping into a dreamless sleep.


	8. Chapter 8

The daily body count had fallen off dramatically since Sherlock had publicly announced his return. Molly suspected that no one wanted to be hunted down by a man who was clever enough to fake his own death. In lieu of helping the Scotland Yard find murderers, Sherlock had taken up a different case: that of Jane's missing father. Molly was both relieved to have someone who finally wanted to solve the case, and also terrified that he would solve the case and she would lose custody of Janie. She knew that was a terribly selfish thought, but so be it. Jane was her child, and she was not giving her up.

Sherlock had texted her to meet him at 221B when she got off of work so that they could have an interview. Molly had texted Jim that she would be late getting home, and Jim texted back a picture of Jane playing on a tiny jungle gym. Jane would be fine with him.

So, as promised, at 5 o'clock Molly rang the doorbell and Mrs. Hudson let her in. The old woman busied herself preparing tea as Sherlock started his interrogation. "So, Molly," he flashed her a patronizing smile, "what was your relationship with James?" he asked, his face taking on it's normal intensity.

"Um... I dunno how to describe it really. We shared a night and a daughter, that was about it." She said, looking down. She wasn't proud of that night. The night after Jim had left, Molly was crushed, and needed a release. So she had gone to a pub, and had a few too many drinks. She had woken up the next morning next to a rather handsome man, and only very vague memories of him. But the past was the past; Jane was here now.

"Right. And you gave him sole custody of Jane, citing emotional instability and postpartum depression. What kind of emotional instability?" He began to pace around the room, making Molly even more nervous.

"Well, you had just left my flat after falling off of a building, Jim Moriarty was still at large, I had just given birth to the child of a man I had only just met nine months prior, and my parents got divorced the day before I went into labor. I was in no condition to take care of a child." She explained, her voice tense.

"So you grew up in a broken home. How interesting." Sherlock muttered, his eyes narrowing. Molly was about to interject that her home was not broken until a few years ago, but Sherlock spoke first. "What do you know about James' family?" He plopped back down in his chair, tenting his fingers under his chin and appearing to concentrate very hard.

"Erm, nothing really... I mean he had a mum that babysat Janie a lot, but I only met her once. I know that he had some brothers and sisters but he never really spoke about them. He also had this au-"

"So his father was not in the picture either. Which, statistically, leads to drug usage, promiscuity, and abandoning responsibility of children. But he wouldn't have done that without cause, not after a year of taking care of her. So now the question becomes, did he voluntarily leave or did someone forcibly remove him?" Sherlock jumped up once more, and consulted his wall, which so far only contained pictures of James and last known locations pinned out on a map. Molly was familiar with three of the pins: the pub that they had met at, James' house, and the daycare center that he dropped Janie off at the day he poofed off of the planet.

"Where's that?" Molly asked, pointing to the last pin, a purple one halfway across the map.

Sherlock, jolted out of his mind palace, glared at her for a minute, then looked back at the wall. "His work." Sherlock said, dismissing her.

"Er, no it's not. He worked at Jones&amp;Burke, on the East side." Molly said, confused. Sherlock's head snapped around so quickly that Molly feared his head might sail clear off.

"How would you know? You said you barely knew him." He said, his voice accusing. Molly became indignant.

"Because I had to go there for paperwork three times after he disappeared. And because every court document listed that as his employer. You can go there and ask; everyone knew him and Jane." She said, more forcefully than she meant to. Molly had a very long fuse, but this week had burned most of it, and Sherlock was now on her last inch.

Sherlock turned back to his wall, and she could almost see the gears working in his head. Or, him turning down the hallways in his palace. She didn't quite get the concept of a mind palace, but if he wanted to be a princess then that was his own business. Molly didn't judge.

Without a word, Sherlock pulled on his coat, sent a text, and stormed out of the apartment. Molly sat in the chair for a moment, confused. Mrs. Hudson handed her a cup of tea on a saucer, and sat in the chair opposite. "Always on the run, he is. Can't keep up with him. I always tell John..." The old woman rambled on as the evening gave way to night, and Molly strained to "mm-hmm" and "yes" at the right times as her mind wandered to places far away from 221B.


End file.
